


Shortstop Wishes, Third Base Dreams

by sarahyellow



Series: Commander's Omega [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Disparaging Language Towards Mall Santas, Domestic Fluff, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Bucky Barnes, Pregnant Sex, Roleplay, Smut, Steve in a Santa Hat, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Unplanned Pregnancy, barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: “S’nice, isn’t it?”“Hm?” Bucky asks lazily, letting his eyes close as he leans back. “What?”“The smell of food, Christmas music on the radio, fire going, too many people.” Steve inhales deeply. “It’s nice.”Two years after Steve and Bucky move their family to New England for Bucky's graduate studies, the Barnes clan comes to visit for the Christmas holidays, and it's typical and wonderful.





	Shortstop Wishes, Third Base Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Ugh.

Steve blinks his eyes open in the early morning. A quick glance over to the bedside clock shows that it’s seven A.M. Between the cracks of the still-drawn shades, a faint morning glow is bleeding in. He blinks sleepily, then yawns and stretches. It’s the stretch that makes him notice that he’s alone in the bed. Bucky’s body isn’t there when he splays out his limbs, and there’s no warm spot to indicate he’s just gotten up to use the bathroom. Steve hums and fingers the crust from his eyes. 

In the kitchen, Steve finds him by the sink in just his pajama pants, fiddling with something on the countertop. Steve can’t see what it is, but he gets one look at the duct tape, string, and the as-of-yet still unposed G.I. Joe, and frowns heavily at his husband’s back. “Bucky, NO.”

Bucky cackles without turning around. “Bucky, YES.”

Steve walks closer, grabbing Bucky’s hips and pulling him back against him. He nips Bucky’s neck, right over his bond scar, and rumbles in his ear, “Listen to your Alpha.” Bucky groans. “ _No_ waterboarding Elfie.” Steve kisses over where he’d nipped. “That’s an order.”

Bucky grumbles but he does drop a half-tied and taped-up Elfie down onto the countertop. “No fair, using your Voice on stupid shit like that,” he complains, though it’s weak. 

Steve has already stepped away to turn on the coffee machine. “Language,” he chides. “And not traumatizing our children with enhanced interrogation isn’t stupid.”

“Hmph.” Bucky walks over to the pantry and pulls out the container of sprinkles that’d been Steve’s idea instead. “Sarah would’ve laughed.”

“You’ve got her way too desensitized for a four-year-old,” Steve agrees, as he gets a coffee mug and sets it in place. A quick glance out the window shows a fresh dusting on the neighborhood street. “It snowed,” he says.

“Mm.” Bucky is dumping rainbow sprinkles out onto the countertop and arranging Elfie like he’s been making snow angels in them. “There,” he says when he’s got it done. 

“Just in time,” Steve mumbles into the steam of his coffee, as doors upstairs can be heard opening, and then little footsteps down the stairs. In a short moment, Becca’s sleepy face comes around the corner into the kitchen. “Hey Cupcake,” Steve greets.

“M’orning,” she says, rubbing her eyes sleepily, that is until she spots Elfie. “Oh!” She hurries over to look at it and shrieks in delight. “Look Papa!”

Steve laughs and goes over to let her show him what she’s discovered, while Bucky just smiles and rolls his eyes, and goes to grab Becca and Sarah’s favorite cereals from the pantry. Steve is the one who gets super-into Christmas with the girls. Bucky gets into it, a little. He was raised Jewish but, well, it was more like Judaism-light, and his dad had always appreciated a nicely-decorated Christmas tree. The holidays that they celebrate at the Rogers-Barnes household aren’t exactly the religious sort. Both Bucky and Steve are kind of put-off from religiosity these days; a lingering side-effect from their years in Gilead. Santa and stockings and pretty lights and (non-waterboarded) elves are about the extent of their celebrations, which is fine. 

It certainly suits the girls. Bucky preemptively pours the cereal as Sarah trails into the kitchen and takes everything in. Bucky doesn’t fail to notice how she spots the discarded GI Joe, then shoots him a knowing look. Bucky bites his lip and waits to see what she’ll do, but she just listens to Becca’s excitement and gets into the spirit of things without saying a word. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. He’s had a sneaking suspicion about Sarah’s _belief_ this holiday season, but she hasn’t said anything yet and Bucky honestly doesn’t think he can break it to Steve. 

By the counter, the girls and Steve are looking at Elfie and eating some of the sprinkles, and Bucky’s heart warms at the sight of how fucking wonderful his life has gotten. He’s got a gorgeous, kind husband who loves him and supports his ambitions, and who just wants to make their two adorable daughters smile and laugh and not adopt horrible Boston accents. _Fuck_ , Bucky thinks. He is so fucking happy. His thoughts veer off then as he thinks of what else they might—probably definitely—have to be happy about. He glances down to his stomach and fights not to let his hand drift there. Steve and he haven’t been trying, per say, but with Bucky’s graduate studies coming to a close, birth control just hasn’t been the priority it once was. Bucky had forgotten to pick up his pill pack the week of midterms. That’d been two months ago, and once Bucky had noticed the symptoms and gotten his ass in gear to take a test, well… by then the holidays had been in full-swing and honestly? Bucky just wasn’t as horrified by a double pink line as he might once have been. 

Steve’s the one who wants a baker’s dozen. Bucky hasn’t told him that he’s kind of coming around to the idea…

“Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes snap up, wide. “What?”

Steve is smiling, Sarah hoisted up on his hip and Becca pulling at his leg to get picked up too. “You gonna come with us to the mall today?” he asks. 

Bucky huffs but nods, making the girls cheer and Becca start up a chant of ‘Santa, Santa!’ Steve’s been wanting to get the girls’ photo taken on the lap of the mall Santa, Bucky knows. He doesn’t understand though. Mall Santas are just gross. He huffs again and pushes the girls towards the breakfast bar. “Eat,” he tells them, shooting Steve an exasperated look. 

“Don’t look at me like that. This is family time. It’ll be fun.” Bucky makes a noise that says he seriously doubts that, but he heads off to go get dressed anyway. Steve calls out, “Wear your ugly Christmas sweater!” Bucky gives him the finger over his shoulder without looking back.

—

Bucky does wind up putting his ugly sweater on, but only because he loves Steve and he really kind of wants to see Steve in his, too. So the two of them look like a couple of matching weirdos and Sarah and Becca are, in Bucky’s opinion, adorable in their Christmas dresses. Steve had told them they could get dressed up fancy for their picture with Santa. Becca’s got her patent leather “clacky” shoes on, and Sarah’s wearing her white sparkly cowgirl boots. 

They take Bucky’s jeep because it has four-wheel drive and the streets are an icy mess after last night’s snow. The mall is just as awful as Bucky knew it would be. Parking alone is a nightmare, and once they get in through the doors, Bucky is gripping Steve’s hand tightly. “This is insane,” he mumbles. 

Steve just laughs through his wince (Bucky’s gripping him with his _metal_ hand) and teases, “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“I left it in the car.”

He leans over and pecks a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Don’t you want to get your picture taken with Santa?” he jokes. 

“Baby, the only man whose lap I want to sit on is yours.” He says it mildly enough, but Steve still squawks like he’s shouted at the top of his lungs that Santa isn’t real.

“Bucky!” 

Bucky cackles and steps out of reach of Steve’s swipe. “What? It’s true.” He glances up to where the girls are looking around at all of the mall displays with excitement. “They’re not even listening.”

There is a blush that’s rapidly making its way past the neckline of Steve’s ugly sweater, and it is glorious. “Still…”

They round the corner, and the mall’s central atrium comes into view.

“Santa!”

Bucky’s mouth may gape a little at the size of the line. “Fuck, no,” he says. “ _Steve_ , NO.”

“PapaPapaPapa!” Four little hands are tugging and tugging at Steve’s sleeve. “Come _on!_ ”

Steve shoots an apologetic look to Bucky that tells Bucky he really doesn’t mind. “How long do you think?” he asks. “Hour and a half?”

“Three,” Bucky says, deadpan. “Maybe more.”

Even Steve looks a little sick at that, but he quickly puts on a brave face. “We can do it.”

“Stevie…” Bucky looks at the line again. He can’t even see the beginning of it. It’s a mass of humanity the likes of which he hasn’t seen anything close to since they moved from New York. “I didn’t know there were this many people in Massachusetts,” he says. 

“It is two days before Christmas,” Steve says. 

“Yeah.”

“Here,” Steve says, and he’s reaching out to hand Bucky his wallet. “There’re like six gift cards in there. Go and find a few more presents for your family.”

Bucky’s heart leaps. He looks up from the wallet to Steve’s face. “ _Really?_ ”

Steve smiles and Bucky falls in love with him all over again. Steve is sacrificing himself, for Bucky. _His hero_. “Yeah,” Steve says. “We all know you’re a grinch anyway. Santa won’t want to see you.”

“Yeah,” Becca chirps up. “Santa won’t like you, Daddy.” 

Bucky snorts. He looks at Steve again and checks, “You sure?”

“Go on. I’ve got this.”

Bucky fishes out the gift cards, sees that they’re all for places like The Gap and Old Navy, and stuffs them in his back pocket. “Thanks babe, you’re the best!” He doesn’t even glance back as he heads off. Shopping for women’s clothing has never sounded so appealing.

— 

Bucky winds up finding something for each of his sisters, something for his mother and even something that he thinks might be a suitable gift for Trudy’s husband. He juggles the bags as he makes his way towards the food court where Steve had texted they’d be. He’s thinking about what a full house it’s going to be once his family arrives, mentally trying to piece together what weird sleeping situation shuffle they’re going to do to make nine people fit into their three bedroom house, when Steve and the girls come into sight, and Bucky instantly knows something is wrong. Steve is sitting at one of the food court’s tables looking like his metaphorical puppy has died. Sarah and Becca are in the playplace nearby. Bucky winces at the sight of their bare hands and feet scampering around the foam and plastic enclosure. “You bring any Lysol?” he asks Steve as he comes into earshot, dumps his bags and takes a seat across from him.

Steve gives a half-hearted smile. He’s fiddling with a candy cane pencil and piece of red and green stationary. “Writing my letter to Santa,” he says.

Bucky grabs one of the girls’ abandoned nuggets from their lunches and pops it into his mouth. “You don’t have much of a list going there,” he comments. He points to the paper that’s got Becca’s messy scrawl on it. “Becs knows what she wants.” Steve’s lips twitch up, but it is so damn _sad_ , and Bucky frowns at his husband. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Steve shrugs. “Sarah told me she knows Santa Claus isn’t real.” His voice is so small as he says it, and Bucky’s heart sinks.

“Oh, babe…”

“I thought it was just the mall Santa at first, you know?”

Bucky snorts. “I mean did you see him? This one was pretty bad.”

“I reminded her how they’re just Santa’s helpers,” Steve says. “But she got this firm little look on her face, yanked on my hand and told me to ‘just stop it’.” He looks up at Bucky, looking heartbroken. “It was like she was angry, but sad too.”

“She probably was,” Bucky says helplessly.

“I made her promise not to tell Becca.”

“That’s good.”

Steve thunks his head down into his hands. “I can’t believe this Buck. She’s only four years old. Four!” He sounds horrified as he says it. “It’s too young. She’s just too young.”

“Jesus Steve, she’s lost her belief in Santa, not her virginity.” _That’s_ definitely not the right thing to say, as when Steve picks his head back up it’s to shoot him the dirtiest glare he’s ever gotten. “Sorry, sorry,” Bucky immediately apologizes. “But you’re acting like this is the end of the world.” Bucky gestures over to where the girls are playing in the most likely MRSA-contaminated playplace. “She promised she wouldn’t tell Becs, so what’s the big deal?”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted a few more years of magic for her. Four _is_ too young.” He glares at Bucky again, as if daring him to disagree. When he doesn’t say a word Steve adds, “Some kid at school told her. Can you believe that?”

Honestly, Bucky kind of can, but he’s just struck by how murderous Steve looks while he’s saying it, as if he’d like to waterboard Sarah’s entire preschool class to find the culprit. It makes him laugh. At Steve’s incensed reaction Bucky just soothes, “Hey, hey. I know you’re disappointed, but she doesn’t seem upset now, does she?” 

Steve shakes his head reluctantly. “No. Once I admitted she was right, she seemed relieved.”

“Well there you go,” Bucky says. “She’s fine. And you’ve still got Becca.” Becca’s older than Sarah, almost six now, but she’s developmentally delayed and even if she weren’t, both Bucky and his husband know her personality is more conducive to believing in the magic. “You’ll have her for years,” he says. Steve makes some grumpy sound, scribbling dejectedly on the _Letter to Santa_ paper that was supposed to be Sarah’s. It makes Bucky sad, so he gets up and rounds the table to sit next to Steve. Gently, he takes the pencil from his fingers. “Mind if I write a letter to the fat man?” he asks. Steve gives him a wry look but he lets Bucky take the paper. He wraps his arm around him. “There you go,” Bucky says. “No more moping, now.”

“Sorry.”

“Mm.” Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s neck and enjoys the way that Steve’s scent lightens. “How old were you when you stopped believing?” he asks him. 

“…Twelve.”

Bucky busts out laughing, unable to feel bad about his reaction even when Steve scowls and pinches him. “Aw,” he says when he’s calming down and only chuckling a little. “Babe, you’re so cute.”

“Ugh.”

Bucky kisses his cheek in apology. “Wanna know how long I believed?”

“You’re a Jewish grinch,” he says grumpily. “Never, I’m sure.”

“Oh I believed,” Bucky tells him. “Till I was like, five or six I think. Then Clair let it slip that Dad was Santa and that was that.”

Steve scowls. “Well at least you made it to five. Sarah’s four.” He nods to some stranger’s toddler who’s playing in the playplace as well. “He’s three. He probably just figured it out.”

Bucky snorts and hugs his husband. “You’re such a baby,” he teases. 

“Hmph.”

Bucky kisses him, once, twice, until Steve kisses back. Bucky pulls back and looks him in the eye. “No hope for future generations, then?” he asks fondly.

“Definitely not. Babies probably come out of the womb not believing, now.”

Bucky is half-contemplating leaning in to whisper something witty in Steve’s ear about that, but his phone goes off and he’s interrupted. He takes the call and smiles as he greets, “Hey Mom, you guys still leaving today or you gonna push it to tomorrow with this weather?”

—

The next day is Christmas Eve. Steve spends the day doing Christmassy-things with the girls (and trying, in Bucky’s opinion, to be a very good sport about Sarah’s newly-revealed non-belief). They make cookies for Santa and wrap up the things Bucky had bought for his family at the mall. Steve does some sort of art project with them at the kitchen table that results in a lot of stray glitter and a few very ugly Christmas ornaments.

“Looks great, sweetie!” Bucky praises, as he struggles to successfully remove the turkey he’s made from the oven, without burning himself. It’s a near thing, and he scowls back at Steve once he’s straightened up. “Little _help_ here?” he snaps. “I’ve got about twelve things cooking here!” Bucky’s entered full-bitch cooking mode and Steve takes note and is coming over to apologize and ask what he can do, but then the doorbell rings and the girls are abandoning their ugly ornaments to run screaming towards the front door. 

“Grandma!!!”

Steve kisses Bucky on the shell of his ear and tells him he’s sorry for not helping and “don’t be grumpy.” He pulls Bucky’s oven mitts off and smacks him on the butt with them to get him walking in the direction of the front door. “Go say hello to your family,” he says. “I’ll take care of this and be there in a sec.” 

It’s been snowing again all that day, so when Bucky gets the door open he’s immediately faced with a gust of cold, snowy air and his mother, short and warm and hugging him in that all-encompassing way that only mothers can really do. Winnie envelopes him, her puffy coat scratching his face and her perfume smelling like home. Before he can get a word out she says, “Five and a half hours in a car with your sister, James. Almost six. It’s not okay.” 

Bucky laughs and pulls her into the house, not even knowing which sibling she’s talking about. Probably Becca.

For the next ten minutes, the front hall is a flurry of people, coats and gift boxes being shuffled around. Becca and Sarah are loud as they try to drag their grandmother and aunts to see their rooms, toys and latest school projects. Trudy and her husband manage to avoid the tour and settle into the living room, leaving Bucky and Steve a moment alone in the hall. Bucky allows himself to be pulled back against Steve’s chest, who whispers in his ear, “S’nice, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Bucky asks lazily, letting his eyes close as he leans back. “What?”

“The smell of food, Christmas music on the radio, fire going, too many people.” Steve inhales deeply. “It’s nice.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow where Steve can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back against him. “It is.” He’s thinking about where Steve’s arms are wrapped around his middle. “You like having a full house, huh?” he asks, feeling warm.

“Yeah. It was always just me and my mom when I was growing up.” Steve squeezes him. “She was great, but I always wanted a bigger family.”

“Hmm.” Bucky wiggles, pleased, in his hold. “You want a baseball team’s-worth?”

“Mm, you know I do,” Steve rumbles, dipping down to kiss behind his ear. “It makes the alone time more special. Speaking of, you think I’ll be able to snag you tonight? Try for our third baseman?” 

Bucky laughs. “We’ll see.” He pulls away when the sound of everyone coming back up from the basement gets nearer. He tells Steve to go set the table for dinner, not turning around to issue the order because he’s afraid of giving anything away on his face.

—

“Oh what a beautiful tree,” Winnie says as Steve leads them into the dining room. “Oh and such nice paper ornaments. Becca, Sarah, did you make those?”

“Yes!”

“Well that’s lovely.”

“We made cookies for Santa too! You can have one, if you want,” Becca offers.

Steve goes back and forth between the kitchen and dining room with the dishes that Bucky hands him, Winnie and the others seating themselves at the table. “After dinner you can show Grandma what Elfie got up to last night,” Steve says, placing the container of macaroni onto the table. He glances to Sarah as he says it, and sees how she doesn’t believe it’s real, as Becca squeals about the elf. 

“Where’s your menorah set out?” Winnie asks.

Steve freezes. “Oh.” Crap. He looks apologetically at Winnie. “You know, it broke during the move. We haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet.”

Winnie frowns heavily. “Yet?” she says. “You’ve been here for two years.”

“Well…” Steve shrugs apologetically.

“Well Bucky’s traditions just aren’t as important in this household as yours are. But I suppose that’s typical in A-O couples,” Winnie says, and it’s quiet and quick but it’s the meanest thing she’s ever said to Steve and Steve is just left staring at her, flabbergasted. Before he can respond with anything, Bucky’s coming into the room with the turkey on its platter and everyone’s clapping over it, and the moment is over.

—

Bucky corners Becca in the dark upstairs hallway after dinner, just as she’s coming out of the bathroom. “Christ on a stick Bucky!” she says, lowering her voice to a hiss towards the end. “Warn a girl, fuck.”

Bucky’s lips twitch at her cursing and he wonders how long it’ll take before Steve is calling Becca out on her foul mouth as well. “Sorry,” he says. “Had to get you alone.”

“If you’re planning on asking me why mom is being so weird to Steve, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What?” Bucky frowns. “No. What? Weird to Steve?” He shakes his head and pushes that away. “No, it’s about the thing. The, you know: the _thing_ …”

Suddenly, Becca is smirking. “Yeah. Sure thing, _Mommy_.” She winks.

Bucky hisses and he grabs her by the arm, yanking her closer to the bathroom door. “SHHH!” he hisses, glaring.

Becca rolls her eyes. “Calm _down_. Don’t be so hormonal.”

It’s times like these that make Bucky wish he wasn’t a full-grown man, that they were both still a couple of punk kids so he could smack her upside the head. “Did you get it or not?”

Becca goes into the guest bedroom where her suitcase is. She emerges, plastic pharmacy bag in hand. “I don’t get why you need one of these, if you already know you’re—ow!” 

“Be quiet!”

“Nobody’s listening!”

Bucky yanks the plastic bag out of her hands and glances down to see the _Clearblue_ box inside. “I told you,” he says, “this is just for show. I threw the other one away. M’not gonna keep a peed-on stick in my house for weeks. Gross.”

“Sure, whatever. Good luck in there,” she says, giving him a salute. “We’re all counting on you to save the human race, you know.” 

Bucky just shoos her away, shuts himself up in the upstairs bathroom, and proceeds to take a pregnancy test that he already knows will turn up positive.

—

“So does that mean you’re moving back to New York next year?” 

“What? But there are so many opportunities for Bucky here,” Winnie says. “Why would they move?”

Steve is sitting on the couch across from Trudy, her husband—Dennis, and Winnie. Clair is on the floor letting Becca and Sarah tell her how to correctly play with their _Frozen_ dolls, and Steve has no idea where Bucky or Becca Sr. have disappeared to. It’s Dennis who’s asked him the question. “Um,” he hedges, trying hard to ignore the weird way that Winnie’s been staring at him off and on since dinner. “Well yeah. We’ve always thought we’d go back eventually. You guys live there.”

“Bucky’s school is here,” Winnie says pointedly. 

“…Yeah, and he’ll be graduating soon. And I’m going to start back with Shield. They’re headquartered in Manhattan.”

“So you expect him to just drop everything and move back for your job?” Winnie says. “You haven’t worked in years and suddenly he’s got to go back to being your housewife?” 

“What?” Steve frowns heavily. “I didn’t say anything about that. If Bucky wants to work, he can work.”

“ _‘If’?_ ” 

“Yeah, if. We haven’t discussed it in so much detail yet. We’ll do what’s right for our family.” 

Winnie gets all tight-lipped and doesn’t say anything after that, and Steve feels very uncomfortable and confused. He wonders if this is what having a mother in law usually feels like. Winnifred Barnes has always been very accepting of his and Bucky’s relationship, so he’s not exactly sure why she’s acting so off. “…Does anybody want some eggnog? I think Bucky made some.”

“Oh he did that too, hm?” Winnie says, and Steve turns to look at her. “But he did all the cooking too, didn’t he?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Hm.” 

She doesn’t say anything more and Steve is left to confusedly shuffle into the kitchen and get the eggnog out of the fridge. That’s when Bucky appears. “Hey,” Steve says, pecking him on the cheek. Bucky tries to make the kiss last longer but Steve pulls away. “Your mom’s being weird,” he tells him.

“Weird?”

“Yeah. I dunno. She seems mad or something.”

“Or something,” Becca says as she walks into the room and takes the pitcher from Steve. She proceeds to pour herself a glass. When she’s sipped it and is peering over the rim at them, she tells Bucky, “She read your book.”

“…Oh.”

“Fuck.”

Becca hums into her cup and turns for the living room. “Yeah. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

When Steve and Bucky are alone again they stare at each other, dreadful. “I thought you said she wasn’t going to read it?” Steve says, and it’s like he’s accusing Bucky. “You said you told her not to.”

“I said I’d prefer it if she didn’t,” Bucky corrects. “I told her it had awkward stuff in it she wouldn’t want to read.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, awkward, sure. Stuff like rape and torture. Me _owning_ you.” He hisses it, but it still sounds loud and Bucky winces as he shushes him. 

“It was an exposé, Steve. It was supposed to, you know, _expose_ stuff. The book made it clear that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why has your mom been staring at me like I’m a commander all evening?”

“She has _not_.” 

“Yeah?” Steve picks up the pitcher of eggnog and gestures for Bucky to grab the tray of glasses. “Well come on and see.” 

—

In the living room they all sit together and chat over the background noise of one holiday movie, then another, the girls playing with at least one of Bucky’s sisters at all times. Winnie is still distant but she tones it down with Bucky in the room, which unnerves Steve. Bucky cuddles against him reassuringly and refills his eggnog cup whenever he wants, not exactly oblivious to the looks his mother shoots him whenever he does. 

“Okay! I think it’s about time for bed,” Steve says, standing up and looking at the girls, who are quick to whine in protest. “None of that,” he says. “Santa won’t come if you aren’t asleep.”

“Santa doesn’t care if _you’re_ awake,” Sarah points out, a clear look aimed at Steve. 

Steve gulps, not knowing what to say. 

“That’s cause we’re grownups,” Bucky says. “Now go on and head upstairs. Auntie Becca is going to help you get ready for bed.”

“Is she sleeping in our room?” Becca asks.

“Yep.”

“Yay!” Becca hurries and grabs her aunt’s hand and pulls her from the room, toward the stairs. Sarah follows after a beat and Steve watches as Bucky follows close behind. 

Steve goes to the edge of the room and peeks around the doorway. Becca’s feet are disappearing at the top of the stairs but Bucky has pulled Sarah aside at the bottom landing. “Hey Pumpkin, hang on a sec,” he’s saying quietly. Sarah turns in his arms and Steve bites his lip as he watches his husband give their daughter a talk about not believing in Santa anymore. “I know it’s sad, cause it doesn’t seem magical anymore, right?” he’s saying. Sarah nods her little head and Bucky gives her a hug. When he pulls back he says, “But see that’s not true. It gets _more_ magical once you know, because then you get to be a part of it. You get to be one of Santa’s helpers.” He makes finger quotes around the words, which makes Sarah giggle. Steve smiles and leans his cheek against the doorframe as he continues to watch. Bucky’s petting Sarah’s face. “You want to be a helper, don’t you?”

“Like the mall Santas?”

“Yeah.”

“But Daddy, you always say they’re gross and perferts.”

Steve tries to keep his laughter silent as Bucky corrects, “It’s perverts, sweetie, and um, well you’ll definitely be a much better helper than them. Do you want to help make Elfie do something extra silly for Christmas morning?”

Sarah’s eyes get about as wide as saucers and she nods rapidly. “Yes, yes!” 

Bucky laughs and gives her a hug. “Okay sweetie. Come on, let’s get you up to bed and we can brainstorm while Aunt Becca distracts Becs, okay?”

“Okay!”

Steve watches Bucky take their daughter upstairs with a smile. When he turns back around to face the family room, he’s taken aback by how close Winnie is standing to him. She’s got a frown set into her features. “That girl is four years old, Steven,” she says.

Steve frowns. “I’m aware, Winnifred.”

“How does she know Santa isn’t real?” Winnie says. “Did you tell her?” 

“What?!” Steve scowls, he can’t help it. “Of course not! I’m the biggest Christmas nut there is. She figured it out on her own.”

Winnie ‘hmphs’ and crosses her arms, and Clair, who’s finished putting away all of the girls’ toys, tells her to chill. “You’re looking for a fight, mom.”

“I am not!”

Steve huffs and goes to refill his eggnog glass. For once, he’s finally seeing why people might want to get boozy over the holidays. “If you don’t tell me what you want to say right now, Winnie,” Steve warns, “Then I’m bringing it up when Bucky’s in the room.”

Winnie gets stiff and she looks over at Steve, taken aback. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Well I never.”

“Ugh,” Trudy huffs, and she’s throwing her hand up in the air as she reveals, “She’s been in a bad mood ever since she read Bucky’s book on the ride up here.”

“ _Trudy_ ,” Winnie hisses, but when she looks back to Steve it’s with a tad bit less haughtiness. “Well it was a long drive.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Steve asks, though he can already guess. The book had made it clear Steve helped Bucky, but it hadn’t gone into detail about Steve’s specific role in the regime. A lot of room was left for speculation.

“He went through so much,” Winnie says, looking dejected. “I didn’t know it was… how bad it really was. Everyone treated him so horribly!”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “So you suddenly have a problem with me? Winnie, you’ve always been supportive of us. You know I love Bucky. You know I’d never do anything to hurt him.” 

Winnie purses her lips and looks down. “I… well I’d never gotten that clear of a picture of it all from him, Steven,” she says. “That book just had so many…” she sighs. “So many awful details.”

“That’s why he _told_ you not to read it, mom,” Trudy says, exasperated. “Did you think it was going to be all sunshine and rainbows?”

“ _No_ Trudy. I just think that Steven should have—”

“Look,” Steve says, and he’s stepped forward to place his hand on Winnie’s shoulder. She’s taken aback, but she doesn’t tense or pull away when Steve makes it clear he’s going to bring her in for a hug. They hug, and she’s tiny in his arms. Steve thinks that Bucky’s dad must’ve been a big guy, because he certainly doesn’t get his size from his mother. “I have never, and I will never, hurt him,” Steve says firmly. “He’s my whole world. Don’t ever think I won’t treat him right.”

When Winnie pulls back she sniffles and nods. “Oh Steven, I’m sorry. I was terse with you.”

“You were.”

She shakes her head. “I suppose I took it out on you. I’m sorry that’s just not like me.”

Trudy snorts but doesn’t say anything.

“S’fine,” Steve says. “If you need to ask me, or him, anything about it, you know we’ll talk to you.”

Winnie gives a wince, which Steve doesn’t know whether he should take personally or not, but before he can decide she’s shaking her head. “No no. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Steve’s lips part to say something but then Bucky’s coming back into the room. “Becca’s going to make sure they stay put for the rest of the night,” he announces cheerfully. “So we can get this party started!” Winnie smiles a little and goes off to plant herself on the couch next to Dennis, and Steve accepts the hug Bucky gives him. “Everything good down here?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I saw you give Sarah that little pep talk out there. For someone who’s such a scrooge, that was quite the Hallmark moment.”

Bucky blushes and scrubs his face into Steve’s shoulder. “Steeeve,”

“Naw babe.” Steve kisses him on top of his head and gives him a squeeze. “You are the sweetest, most perfect father on the planet, you know that?”

Bucky lifts his head and hums. His eyes are full of delight, despite the embarrassed pinch of his mouth. “Husband too?”

Steve smiles and kisses him, this time with a tad bit of tongue because he knows that’ll make Bucky squeak with his mother right there in the room. “Husband too,” he purrs into Bucky’s ear when he pulls back. He puts his hand on the small of Bucky’s back and guides him to sit on the couch. 

They turn up the music a few notches and everyone gets another glass of eggnog, then Bucky puts Steve’s Santa hat on him and announces that “It’s present-wrapping time!”

—

“I’m like Steve,” Becca says from her spot on the floor. “I stayed the course. Till I was… what mom: fourteen?”

Bucky scoffs and Winnie has to finish swallowing her sip of eggnog before she can giggle and correct, “Not quite, dear. I think that last year you were just holding on for the sake of it.”

Becca shrugs and looks back to Steve. “Thirteen, then.”

Bucky claps Steve on the shoulder as he passes with yet another just-wrapped present. “See sweetie, you’re not the only weird one.”

Becca tries to pinch Bucky’s calf, but she’s drunk like everyone else and she just winds up tipping over with a giggle. “Oops!”

Everyone laughs, and then when Steve, Bucky and Clair each take another present to wrap up, Winnie says, “I remember when Clair first knew. She came home from school, crying. You remember that honey?”

Clair smiles softly. “Yeah.”

Winnie nods. “She was nine. I was glad to have gotten her that far, I suppose.”

Next to Bucky, Steve sighs, and when Bucky looks over he sees that Steve’s dipped his head, the ball on his Santa hat fallen forward dejectedly. Bucky leans over and bumps their shoulders together. “Hey. Don’t be sad,” he says. “She was really happy once I framed it from the Santa’s helper point of view.”

“Studies are actually showing that kids are believing less and less now,” Dennis says. He’s sitting on the couch with Winnie, more focused on the chex mix and drinks than the present wrapping that Bucky’s sisters are helping with. “I read an article about it. Kids are like, way more likely to stop believing by the first grade. Or something like that.” He shrugs. “What’re ya gonna do?”

“Well Bucky must’ve started that trend,” Trudy drawls. “He’s the worst of them all. I don’t know if he ever really believed in Santa.”

“I did!” Bucky says, faux-indignant.

“Buck, you stopped before _I_ did.”

“Because of Clair’s big mouth!” Bucky huffs and grabs up another present—this one a fairy-garden kit for Becca. He starts wrapping it in some of the blue dreidel paper. “Besides,” he says, looking pointedly over at Steve in his dorky sweater and Santa hat, “Santa’s gotten a lot hotter looking than I remember from when we were kids.”

“Ew.”

Becca makes a fake gagging sound and throws a bow at Bucky’s head, missing by a mile.

“What?!” Bucky laughs. “I’m just saying…” he meets Steve’s eyes. “I might start believing again.”

—

It’s way past midnight by the time everyone has gone to bed, leaving just Bucky and Steve in the living room to clean up. Bucky sighs and stands with the garbage bag of stray ribbon and wrapping paper scraps. Steve hums and gets the bowl of eggnog dregs to pour down the kitchen sink, while Bucky throws the trash away. “You very drunk?” he asks his husband.

“Mm, a little.”

Bucky snorts, then goes back to the living room doorway. “Should we leave the lights on?” he wonders aloud as he’s looking at the tree. Steve comes up to stand at his back.

“Yeah. They’ll be up in a couple of hours anyways. It’ll still be dark. They’ll like it.”

Bucky groans and takes Steve’s hand, pulling him toward the stairs. “Couple hours. Jesus. I can’t wait till Becs figures it out,” he complains. “Then we might actually get a decent night’s sleep.” Steve shushes him and pulls him into their bedroom, telling him he doesn’t mean that. Bucky makes a ‘Psh’ noise and says, “Of course I mean it. I’m the grouchy Jew Grinch, remember?— _Ah!_ ”

Steve’s grabbed Bucky from behind, growling playfully and hugging him against his body. Bucky laughs and tries to pull away, but he can’t. Steve just holds him tightly and nips at his neck. “I thought you said you were going to believe again?” he says. “Something about a hot Santa?”

Bucky stills, remembering. “Hm, yeah.” He twists in Steve’s arms until they’re face to face, and he smiles at the picture Steve paints with the fluffy white trim of the Santa’s hat over his blond hair, its puffball dangling to the side. “Yeah,” Bucky says again, this time quietly. “You’re pretty hot. Could be _Mr. December_ on a sexy calendar.”

Steve chuckles and looks at him with dark, turned-on eyes. “I think I’d need a little less clothing for that,” he says.

“Yeah.” Bucky steps back, out of Steve’s reach before Steve can reach him. He pulls his own sweater over his head and lets it land somewhere on the floor. Steve’s scent gets smokier as he watches him undress and he steps forward as if he’ll try and touch him. But Bucky shakes his head and moves away. “Naw. I want to see it, now.”

Steve huffs. “See what?” 

“You, naked.” Bucky smirks and grabs up the remote that controls their bedroom’s gas fireplace. He turns it on. “And posed in front of the fire. Mr. December.”

Steve snorts but he does start undressing, willing to indulge Bucky. He gets out of his pants and pulls his sweater off, then removes his socks and underwear too. Bucky watches, eyes hungry, as Steve is bared to him. Once he’s standing there fully naked, Steve steps back to stand in front of their fireplace. “How do you want me?” he asks, smiling and cocksure. Between his legs, he’s hardening a little. Bucky smirks. He pushes the fabric bench from the foot of their bed over to Steve and tells him to sit. Steve does. Bucky gets the small, long gift box that he’s wrapped for Steve and shows it to him. Steve’s face sinks. “Aw babe, you didn’t say we were doing a Christmas Eve gift. I didn’t… I didn’t get—”

“Shh,” Bucky says, smiling at how easy it is to mess with his husband, how goddamn sweet Steve is. “I know that. I just had something special to give you, is all.”

Steve doesn’t look fully-satisfied. He’s kind of pouting as he watches Bucky place it on the end of the bench. Steve’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t reach for it. “I’m not allowed to open it right now?” he asks. 

“In a minute.” Bucky goes and picks up the discarded Santa hat and comes to stand in front of Steve. He smiles down at him, feeling the low curl of arousal starting in his belly. “Hey Mister,” he says.

Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Hey.” Bucky brings the hat up and places it firmly on Steve’s head again, fixing the puffball back and to the side just so. “Buuuck,” Steve complains, but Bucky just shushes him by climbing up to straddle him on the bench, one leg and then the other, knees on either side of him and ass in his lap. Steve’s inhale and the surge in his scent let Bucky know he’s shut him up well and good.

He leans in and puts his lips by Steve’s ear. “Hey, Santa.”

“God, Bucky.” This time Steve’s protest sounds less like a complaint and more like a groan. “Really?”

“Yup,” Bucky says. He cups Steve’s jaw with one hand and kisses him, dirty and deep. When they part, he says, “I told you: the only man’s lap I wanted to sit in was yours.”

“You are such a pervert,” Steve says, but his hands are on Bucky’s hips, grabbing him there. "What am I supposed to do? Ask if you've been naughty or nice?"

Bucky smiles. “Come on Stevie, we both know the answer to that.” Steve rolls his eyes, and then they tick to the side where the gift box is sitting, and Bucky grins. “You want your present now?”

“I want you.”

Bucky hums and gives him another kiss. “Good answer,” he says against his lips. Then, “Do you remember what we were talking about, earlier? When my family got here?” Steve just blinks at him stupidly, clearly not remembering, so Bucky leans in and licks the shell of his ear and whispers, “You were pretty eager to know if you’d have the chance to get a hold of me tonight.” Bucky smirks at the way that Steve’s breath hitches near-imperceptibly, the way his fingers tighten where they’re holding him. He hums a pleased sound against Steve’s skin. “Mm, yeah. You remembering now?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah a little.”

“That baseball team you mentioned?” Bucky says, and he pulls back enough so that he can see the way that makes Steve’s eyes darken even further. 

“…Yeah,” he’s saying, tone sly and scent strong. One of his hands slides down from Bucky’s hip and his fingers dip into the cleft of his ass, touching the slick there. “What?” Steve says. “You like that? Like thinking about making another baby?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re all wet, honey.” 

Bucky sighs and rubs forward against Steve, just once, because he can’t not when his husband goes and says stuff like that. “Yeah,” he says. “Think I want to give you your present.”

Steve chuckles. “It can wait.”

“No.” Bucky reaches out and grabs the box and hands it to Steve. “Open it,” he says.

Steve looks mildly surprised by Bucky’s insistence but he doesn’t protest. He takes it and pulls the ribbon, then lifts the lid off and sets it aside. When he looks down, it’s to see a piece of paper. It’s the _Letter to Santa_ stationary from the mall, all folded up and with one word written across it in black sharpie: _Shortstop_. Steve looks confused. “What—” Bucky pulls the piece of paper out and reveals what’s sitting beneath. A pregnancy test with two pink stripes. Steve’s breath catches much more audibly this time. “Oh, Buck…”

“Third baseman really has to have a killer arm. Thought we should wait till we had at least five and then hold try-outs or something,” Bucky mutters. “So, shortstop.”

Bucky thinks his joke is kind of funny, so he’s expecting to get some sort of laugh from Steve. All he gets though, is a huge exhale of air in his face and then picked up and tackled to the floor. The next thing Bucky knows, he’s on his back on the carpet in front of the fireplace, being absolutely showered with kisses as Steve tells him, “Oh, baby. Baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my gosh. That’s so. Fuck Bucky. Fuck.” Steve is just babbling, words and half sentences all kissed into his skin as he rubs down against him. 

Bucky closes his eyes and lets him, running his flesh and metal hands up and down the planes of Steve’s back. “I take it you’re happy?” he says when he thinks he’s got at least a chance of being heard. Steve’s kissing slows, and then he pulls back and looks down at him. His eyes are huge and shiny, and basically look like the plastic ones on those creepy fuzzball toys Sarah loves. Bucky smiles up at his husband. “Happy?”

Steve huffs. “Yes. _God_ , Bucky.” He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, rubbing and licking and scraping his teeth over his bond scar. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Bucky pets his fingers through Steve’s hair, half-knocking the Santa hat off him. “I know,” he says. Suddenly, there are tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He laughs breathily because that’s ridiculous. “I know,” he repeats. Steve pulls back up and looks down at him. “I took a test weeks ago,” Bucky says. “Cause I felt off.”

“You want this?” Steve asks. “I don’t want to pressure you if—” 

“I want it,” Bucky interrupts. “I know we weren’t planning it but, yeah I do. I want to have this baby with you, Steve.”

Steve’s face crumples in emotion and desire all over again, and he surges down to kiss Bucky hotly. “God baby, can I have you? Let me have you.”

It’s ridiculous how much Bucky wants to groan just from that one statement from Steve. He can already tell from the way Steve is scenting, from the way his heavy, gentle body is pressing Bucky down against the rug, that this is going to be one of those nights where Steve gives and Bucky takes. Not just in a physical way, either. Spiritually, emotionally, whatever. Bucky can just tell that he’s in for it tonight. “Gonna make you feel so good baby,” Steve is saying, not pulling away as he starts trailing down his body, mouth and hands roaming. “Gonna fuck you. Gonna make you come.”

Bucky smiles at the ceiling, rolling his head against the soft material of the rug as Steve kisses his way down his body. “Mm,” he says. “That sounds nice.”

“Fuck Bucky. Can’t believe you’re actually pregnant. Fuck.”

Steve sounds devastated, and he only curses this much when he's really turned on, so it’s music to Bucky’s ears. His alpha is getting off on this, is aroused just by the knowledge that he’s knocked Bucky up. Bucky’s pregnant with Steve’s pup and it’s got Steve hot, hard and growling, sinking down Bucky’s body to give him pleasure and to show his dominance. Bucky shivers at the thought, squeezing his eyes closed as Steve’s big palms push his thighs apart roughly. His own cock is hard against his inner thigh, his hole leaking slick that he’s sure Steve can smell. 

“Look at you,” Steve murmurs, and it’s like he’s not even saying it for Bucky to hear. He’s staring at Bucky’s stomach, stroking over it, staring at his cock and lower, down between his legs where he’s wet. “God, love your sweet body.” Before Bucky can formulate any response, Steve is sinking down, taking Bucky’s cock into the wet heat of his mouth and rubbing his fingers across his leaking hole. Bucky gasps and moans into the air.

“Oh, fuck Steve.” His eyes snap shut and he grabs at Steve’s head, clumsy hands finally knocking the hat all the way off. “Oh, baby. Yeah like that. Mm.” He pants as Steve sucks him, rocking his hips down against the fingers at his entrance. He wants them so bad but can’t think of how to say it. “ _Steeve_ ,” he whines, fingers gripping Steve’s hair tighter. 

Steve grunts and pulls away. He comes back up Bucky’s body but he keeps the hand between his legs, fingers poised over his entrance, petting and playing in the slick. “What?” he asks, slightly out of breath from sucking Bucky off. He gives him a soft, messy kiss, eyes dark in the light of the fire. “What do you need baby?”  
“In me,” Bucky says, impatient. “Fuck me, please.”

Steve growls and lays heavier atop him, covering him and staring down at him. Below, his finger presses in. He watches Bucky’s face as he penetrates him, lips curling at the sight. “Like that?” he breathes. He pumps his finger once, twice, making Bucky shudder. “S’it feel good, baby?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky nods, suddenly, desperately aroused and just _needing_ Steve to take him. He rolls his hips down against Steve’s hand. 

“Hm, yeah,” Steve says. “I can feel it baby. So swollen up.” He moves his finger somehow, adds another, and then they’re pressing _hard_ on Bucky’s swollen slick glands and Bucky cries out, pain and relief and pleasure all hitting him at once. 

“Oh! Oh fuuck.”

“Shh, shh. I know,” Steve says, soothing, even though there’s _no way_ he could know. 

Bucky peeks his eyes open at him. “‘You know’” he says wryly, breath still a little shuddery from that last touch. “Really? You _know_ what that felt like?”

Steve shushes him and nips at his neck, and pumps his fingers in again, _hard_ , curling them against Bucky’s prostate. Bucky groans like he’s been punched and Steve’s snicker is a deep, possessive thing against Bucky’s ear as he says, “Yeah, I do. You think I don’t know how you get when you’ve skipped your heats for months on end? When you finally stop the suppressants?” Bucky whimpers and Steve thrusts his fingers rhythmically, adds another. “You’re wound up so tight baby. I have to fight your body to let me in but once it does? God, once it does you’re dripping buckets. Just like now.” He gives Bucky a barrage of thrusts with the three fingers he’s got in him, the wet, squelching sounds of it loud and obscene. “Yeah. That. Right there.”

Bucky can’t take it. Steve’s stupid alpha talk is going straight to his dick and he’s just going to fall apart if he doesn’t give him more soon. “Stevie,” he says, searching. “Alpha, please. In me.”

Steve softens and exhales at the request. “Fuck, babe. Yes. Anything. You can have anything you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s fingers leave his body, but Bucky doesn’t whine because he knows he won’t be denied. He just tilts his hips up further and waits as Steve shifts, then the feeling of Steve’s cock, heavy and hot and _right_ , is between his cheeks, sliding through his slick and pressing into him. Bucky cries out into the space between them, coming from that first, slow slide of penetration.

It’s beautiful; slow like syrup and cresting longer and higher than Bucky is used to for a first orgasm. He shudders through it, eyes clenched shut, and clings onto Steve even once it’s over. He peeks his eyes open and sees right away that Steve’s not unaffected. “God Bucky,” he astounds, sounding almost reverent. “I love that. Love watching you come. So perfect for me.” 

Bucky hums. “How many you gonna get out of me tonight?” he asks, breathless and hushed.

Steve laughs and comes down to kiss him. “Who knows?” he says, though the look in his eyes promises Bucky at least four. Bucky groans at the thought and yanks his head back in for more. They make out, mouths open and tongues wet between them as Steve starts a smooth, deep pace, rocking into Bucky over and over.

It’s slow but they don’t rush it. Something about the way Steve’s looking down at him and Bucky right back up, something about the night or the snow outside, something about the fire and the fact that it’s Christmas eve, or that Bucky’s pregnant and they’re going to have a whole baseball team of kids not believing in Santa Claus one day, 

One or all of those things makes it right.


End file.
